The teaching of the Fathers on vengeance and anger does not allow us to linger in the comfortable ambiguities of human justice. It tears at the fabric of self-justification. Their words bring us face to face with the scandal of divine love—the Cross as the only standard by which we are to measure our dealings with others. The heart that desires retribution, or even to “set things right,” cannot bear the full light of that Cross without trembling. St. Diadochus unmasks the subtle ways we clothe self-interest in piety. We say we fear becoming “a cause of sin” for those who wrong us, but in truth we simply wish to protect our possessions, our security, our image of control. Once we let go of blessing and guarding the heart, we begin to move toward the vestibules of the law courts; our concern for righteousness becomes indistinguishable from the world’s hunger for vindication. To stand before such courts is already to have abandoned the tribunal of mercy. The law of God cannot be kept by means of the laws of men, because mercy does not seek the restoration of things but of persons. The one who endures injustice praying for his oppressor becomes an image of the Crucified, who desired not the return of what was taken from Him but the return of those who took it. Abba Isaac pushes the wound even deeper: to fight over what gives comfort after renouncing the world is blindness. The one for whom the world has died accepts insults with joy, not because they are pleasant, but because they reveal how little of the old self remains to defend. It is not the act of being wronged that kills the soul, but the refusal to see in it a call to die before death. Only those who have lost every hope of worldly consolation can bear this pain without resentment. Such poverty of spirit is rare, but in it the mind shines with tranquil radiance. The Gerontikon illustrates the same wisdom through living examples. Blessed Zosimas warns the generous Dionysia that zeal to avenge an insult can destroy every virtue she possesses. Her almsgiving, though abundant, is nothing if it is not shaped by meekness. To lose composure over a trifling thing is to become a slave of that thing; even a needle or a book can master the heart that has not been freed. The true servant of God has one Master alone. All these sayings converge on the Cross. There, vengeance dies and love is revealed in its purest form. Christ prays for His murderers, not from sentiment but from truth; He alone sees that their real torment is not what they do to Him, but what they do to themselves. The disciple who bears wrongs without retaliation participates in this same divine sight. He no longer divides the world into victims and oppressors, but into the healed and the unhealed. To forgive is to choose the side of healing. To live by this ethos is to live cruciformly. It is to judge nothing and no one, to accept every wound as a summons to prayer, and to see in every thief a brother whose salvation God has entrusted to our mercy. The Cross does not destroy reason; it stretches it until it becomes translucent with grace. In that light, vengeance appears not only impossible but absurd. Only love remains—terrible, meek, and eternal. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:02:23 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:10:43 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 289 Hypothesis XXXVII 00:11:44 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:14:16 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:18:17 Anthony: THEY SHOULD TEACH THIS IN LAW SCHOOL. 00:18:40 Myles Davidson: Reacted to "THEY SHOULD TEACH TH..." with 😁00:26:43 Rick Visser: So there a positive way of stopping others in order to reduce their sin and move toward repentence. 00:27:55 Anthony: Orthodox canon law, such as it is, is a collection called The Rudder, so I'm told. 00:28:47 Rick Visser: So there is a positive way of stopping others in order to reduce their sin and move toward repe